


Data Exchange

by Ylevihs



Series: How Not to Fall [16]
Category: Fallen Hero Series - Malin Rydén, Fallen Hero: Rebirth (Video Game)
Genre: Canon typical anxiety, Established Relationship, Gen, Retribution Spoilers, brief references to past injuries, mild paranoia, platonic chargestep, references to Dr. Mortum
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-08
Updated: 2019-06-08
Packaged: 2020-04-23 01:58:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19141291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ylevihs/pseuds/Ylevihs
Summary: 40% of the entire thing is still a pretty long way, in Richard's opinion.





	Data Exchange

**Author's Note:**

> This took forever to get done but in my defense it's because *throws pocket sand and runs*

Richard took in a deep breath and felt latent panic bloom between his lungs. As a sort of self soothing technique his other senses groped out for anything to steady himself on. The sound of rain outside. Droning. Steady. Heavy and without any signs of stopping. Little dripping noises played counterpoint to the thunder. 

Another breath in. Letting oxygen run its course through his body. 

He knew from experience that there was no leak, that the gentle pit-patter of water was on the window ledge outside, but it was easier to focus on the sound than Ortega’s question. 

This was going too well. It was a thin, insidious thing that wormed its way into his gums and made him clench his jaw. Ortega hadn’t run or denied or screamed or hit him or arrested him or called the directive or. 

He was being paranoid. Ortega had been his friend for years. Almost a full decade if one were allowed to count the time between and it seemed like Ortega certainly did. First and only. And he was still his friend. Was still sitting there, waiting patiently, the constant low grade energetic hum of static and electricity and Richard _knew_ he was being paranoid. 

This was all going too well. 

It couldn’t be wouldn’t be shouldn’t be why was he just sitting there like Richard had suggested nothing more actionary than darting down to the street to catch the bus? That line of thought was banished to the corner of his mind to fester and hopefully die. The arm around him was relaxing, falling back from his shoulders as Daniel’s thoughts clustered together in familiar focus. Not even Daniel knew what Richard’s full designs were. 

Not that he ever would, if Richard could help it. 

“I can’t talk about it here,” which sent the cluster in Daniel’s head scattering. Richard let himself refocus on the situation at hand, leaving the rain for the streets. Ortega shifted his weight, leaning forward. There were questions pushing at his mouth, but he clearly swallowed them for the time being, chewing them back at his lower lip. There was a slight furrow to his brow that smoothed out at almost the exact moment Daniel asked:

“Why not?” Richard spent a half second considering how to phrase the answer when Ortega took the initiative. Sort of.

“Did you actually find any…?”

“Besides the one you left behind?” at least Ortega had the decency to wince; Daniel made a quiet noise of confusion. “No, but that doesn’t mean they aren’t around,” Richard had almost torn his entire apartment apart trying to find any others. The only thing that had kept him from ripping up the carpet in the living room one night had been one too many Dos Equis making his fingers slippery. 

“I know you didn’t destroy it,” the moment of guilt had apparently passed. Ortega’s eyes lit up again with more questions—Richard could see him picking and choosing even with the heavy static clouding up his mind. Of course he hadn’t destroyed it, that would have alerted Ortega that he’d found it in the first place. “Where’d it end up?”

“Inside an old shoe box at the back of my closet,” under a few layers of old books and whatever other flotsam he’d been able to scrounge up around his apartment without feeling like a packrat. Richard had been sorely tempted to leave it where he’d found it. Take the risk to spite his friend. He’d decided it was safer not to, even if it would have made him feel a little better about the situation. Ortega had only been alone once in his apartment but he worked quick and he worked smart. The bug had been placed just on the backside of the ‘what may have been a dog, really, if you tilted your head just right’ painting. 

A not quite ugly part of Richard had wanted to leave it there and let Ortega hear his nightmares; get a good listen at what he was violating by taking away that little piece of his privacy. And then Daniel had almost spent the full night and. Well. There was no reason to give the old man even more to gossip over. 

“The hell are you two talking about?” the arm rest dipped and then rose as Daniel lifted off of it, clearly offended at being left out of the loop. Richard watched him hover for a moment and let himself nudge against the fringes of his thoughts. There was no interest in working to puzzle things together, not when he could simply ask. 

“Listening devices. Recordi--,”

“You bugged his apartment? This apartment,” Daniel blinked a few times at Ortega; this time Ortega’s sheepishness was more subtle, his defenses beginning to shudder to life. Richard turned back to meet his gaze and found those too-brown eyes staring at him. It looked like earnesty. It sounded like it. They stared at one another for what was either three seconds or thirty years.

“I was worried. I didn’t do it to spy on you, I did it to…,” Ortega broke the stare first, looking down at his hands and grimacing. Richard watched as Ortega curled his fingers into a brief fist and then relaxed them back. Whatever internal conflict Ortega had been feeling was over. “Alright, I did do it to spy on you. But not to…I wanted to make sure you were safe. Keep an ear out,” finally he managed to raise his head up to look Richard in the eyes. “You told me once there were people after you, but I never imagined,”

“I was worried about you, too,” Richard felt the words leave his mouth before his mental security screen could snatch them back. Good job, mouth, that’ll come up in your performance review. Well it was out now, may as well. “Both of you. I still am. Telling you anything could. Will,” on second thought, he didn’t want to put words to those fears. As though speaking them might bring them into existence. What wouldn’t the Farm give to get their hands on people like Herald and Charge? They’d have a field day taking them apart. His skin crawled in internalized agony. 

Time to change the subject. 

“I don’t know for sure that there’s anything in the apartment,” Richard allowed the small confession; Daniel hadn’t yet seen exactly how paranoid he could be at times. At least, not that Richard knew of. Over the last few weeks Richard had done his best to curb the impulse to check over his shoulder at every strange sound, to jump at every dropped knife. It was a dangerous move to let his guard down like that and he still wasn’t sure if it was worth it or not. “What I’ve told you so far is a risk I can take,” if they’d bugged his apartment it was because they already knew who he was, anyway, so that confession wouldn’t amount to much. “Anything else…,” he trailed. 

Anything else would put both Rangers at more of a risk than they already were. 

“Not here then,” Daniel said after a moment. “I can think of a place or two that would be safe,” and Richard recognized the look, the way the shoulders dropped a fraction back, eyebrows lifting. Lick of the lips and that was an invitation to peek inside. Richard took it.

“Maybe,” he agreed. It wouldn’t be hard for Daniel to fly them both up somewhere high enough that normal devices wouldn’t be able to pick up on them, but satellites were tricky business. It would be easier to tell him telepathically but Richard wasn’t sure Daniel was ready for that. For more than a few reasons. Fear, ashy grey and furling like ink in water, still clung to his thoughts’ wingtips, muddling their colors. There was trust there, but it had been tempered, and letting all of Richard into his head would be. Wouldn’t be. And to talk about those things while he was in there and run the risk of any of it bleeding over into Daniel’s head? Unacceptable. 

“I have a few places in mind, too,” Ortega’s voice rattled Richard back into reality. The chances that he was just referring to his private office were high and until Ortega actually let him poke around in there, Richard wasn’t about to trust it. “Not there,” Ortega’s guess stuck the landing and even the Russian judge gave it a nine out of ten. “You don’t think I’m a one trick pony, do you?” he shook his head in mock offense. 

“I’m not sure you want to know what I think you are,” it was meant to be a joke and at least Ortega huffed at it. 

“I imagine it’s all good,” friendly sarcasm. A roll of the eye that caught Richard’s and. 

This was going too well—the banished thought, returned from exile, ready to lead the people’s revolution. Something had to go wrong. It faltered trying to figure out what. The recording devices (maybe) hidden somewhere in his house were obvious. Was Ortega’s reaction all a ruse? And as soon as he walked out the door, would he call the Rangers? Or worse, the directive? Or? Had he known all along? All the way back to when Richard was Sidestep? Someone had to have told the farm in the first place, hadn’t they, and they would have believed the marshal and. Or maybe he’d found out when he was spying on Richard and found his address, or maybe Richard hadn’t hidden the bug well enough or.

Distant thunder, not so much poetic as it was a chance for Richard to focus on something besides his own thoughts. It rolled and he counted beats, letting it echo in his head. The rain lulled for a moment before picking back up. 

“So,” out of the corner of his eye, Richard saw Daniel land. “We talk about it later,” he nodded his head a little, as though it were an ultimatum. “Somewhere far away from here,” Richard did him the courtesy of nodding back even though his heart wasn’t fully in it. There was no reason that either Daniel or Ortega needed to know the whole plan. It would only cause problems, both for himself and for them, in the long run. 

Ortega didn’t respond immediately and Richard couldn’t help but try to scour his face for some sort of reaction. He didn’t want to. He wanted, desperately, to believe that maybe things were allowed to be alright for just once. That sure, Ortega was pissed with him and rightfully so, but that the tiny rebel in his head screaming about wiretaps and hidden cameras and inevitable betrayals could be wrong. Just this once? 

There was slight shift in Ortega’s expression, one that Richard recognized from all those years ago; pieces slotting into place. Taking the new information Richard had given him and sliding it, overlapping it onto the picture he’d been putting together and rotating it until it fit best. Until the colors mostly matched and the broader strokes lined up. He was too smart for his own good and Richard could practically see the light bulb flash on behind his eyes. 

“Right then,” an urgent edge to his voice. Oh, he really did think he had something lined up, didn’t he? That couldn’t end well. Ortega stood up and Richard could hear the faint popping of his joints. The crackle of his ankles at they took his weight. A grim and unwanted overture. _He really is getting older_ crept in and squatted low at the front of his brain. 

Richard felt Daniel’s mind perk up. He tried to keep his own hackles from rising. It wasn’t a threatening movement. Neither was the way Ortega tugged down his shirt or adjusted his sleeves. The way he paused and pointed a finger between the two of them was more scolding than anything else. “I’m not done with you about the Mad Dog thing, though. Either of you. Seriously. What the fuck,”

“Can’t make a domestic terrorism omelet without breaking a few city ordinance eggs,” and that joke fell flat. Very flat. Ortega’s mouth hardened. 

“People have gotten hurt, Richard,” those brown eyes flicked over to Daniel, who made a very interesting half flinching motion before clearing his throat. 

“No one’s died,” it was barely a protest. Ortega was right—Richard had followed the news and hospital admissions after every jaunt as Mad Dog. Abrasions. Broken bones. Concussions. On one occasion a laceration that had threatened to go too deep. It had taken some fancy transfer work and a few hours schmoozing around as Mitzi, but he managed to anonymously pay for that person’s hospital bills. Make sure they got taken care of. He’d been careful, he’d been so careful to make sure and. 

“ _Yet_ ,” still right. Still terrifyingly right. It was only a matter of time before something slipped out of his control and someone actually got hurt. Actually…Ortega hadn’t stopped. “You also count as someone who could wind up dead, jackass. I’ve seen Angie get way too close to,” and ah, beans, he didn’t stop his face in time. “Wait. Does Angie know?”

“No. _No_. Not,” he faltered, Daniel’s attention had shot to him like a magnet and Ortega was openly glaring at him now. “Not like. Lady Argent knows that Mad Dog is a ReGene, she saw my arm,” he decided to leave out that he’d shown it to her willingly. “But she doesn’t know that I’m Mad Dog,” the glare intensified.

“Is there anyone else who knew before I did?” Ortega held his hands out to his sides and Richard tried not to wince. “I mean I get why Daniel, but hell, Angie? Who else? Steel? The waitress over at Hoots? Why not the local dog walkers while you’re at it?”

Richard bit the bullet. Lightly. “Only one. The person I hired to make my armor knows, but they’re no one you would know,”

“You sure about that?” the glare was still firm but it had lost some of its heat. “I know a lot of people, Richie,” he wasn’t sure about it, but the alternative reeked of danger so he left it alone for the moment. Ortega did know a lot of people. It was increasingly apparent that he may have known too many. 

“You don’t know them, they’re very private. Not the sort who goes around telling secrets, if you catch my drift,” and goodness knows he hoped that was true. Dr. Mortum had a soft spot for Mitzi and his reception to Richard’s confession had been less than warm. But at least he hadn’t ended up shot in the stomach after rolling up his shirt. Ah, beans. He still needed to tell Ortega about Mitzi. He still needed to tell _Daniel_ everything about Mitzi. As far as he was concerned the busty blonde was just some young thing Richard had hired to do his dirty work. 

It wasn’t clear if that answer actually satisfied him or if Ortega could tell he wouldn’t get any further by pressing the issue. Instead he jumped tracks to the other train of thought, attention visibly swiveling to Daniel. 

“And you’ve known who he is and let oh dios mio is that what the community service bullshit is about?” 

“It’s not bullshit,” Daniel crossed his arms over his chest, defensive. Fully aware that okay, yeah, community service was a pretty poor punishment but it wasn’t like Ortega was offering up any solutions. “And I don’t exactly see you rushing to arrest him either. At least this way he’s being made to clean up some of his mess,” that changed something. Whether it was in his face or his stance or just the way he was breathing but something in Ortega changed. Enough to drive Richard to stand as well. Legs twitching, moving without meaning to, to put the table between himself and Ortega. Daniel was still between them both and the door. The sudden movement caused Ortega to falter for a moment before relaxing.

“I’m not arresting you. There’s too many,” again, the puzzle solving look. Another shape coming into focus out of the mess. “Nothing good would come of it, anyway,” it wasn’t all he wanted to say, Richard could tell, but it was all he was going to offer up. The itch of his static remained ever present. “But you’ve got to cut the Mad Dog shit out, for your own sake,”

“I can’t. I still have work that needs to be done with it,” Ortega made a noise not unlike a growl at the back of his throat. “Which I _will_ tell you about. Later,” most of it anyway. “Until then all I can promise is that I won’t let anyone…I won’t let that happen,” Something wriggled at the back of his head. It elbowed through the crush of paranoia and jabbed shame in the ribs before reaching his conscious brain with an important telegram. “When Daniel went to get me in the bathroom you planted another recorder, didn’t you?” he didn’t sound nearly as accusatory as he wanted it to. Instead he just sounded tired and angry, even to his own ears. 

Ortega froze. Stayed still, as though if he didn’t move Richard would lose track of him, and then folded, bending over and plucking the device from the underside of the couch. It was about the size of one of those old half dollar coins and wafer thin. A newer model from the one Richard had found in his bedroom those few months ago.

“Can’t blame me for trying can you?” there was a break of silence as Richard tried to figure out how best to communicate that oh yes, he very much could blame Ortega for trying, thank you very much, while still acknowledging that okay, maybe he couldn’t be blamed. Nothing seemed to come to mind, so silence reigned supreme for what felt like an eternity. They stood like that, the low coffee table the only physical thing separating them. As for everything else now keeping them apart, it may as well have been the Grand Canyon. Little ripples brushed up into the quiet space as Daniel’s thoughts drifted up and down; he was trying to get a better read on the situation. 

_Take a number, lover boy, nobody knows what’s going on here anymore._

Finally Ortega sighed. “We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? I’ll call you. Same time as always,” he said the last part far softer than he had any right to. It struck Richard right in the spot where his anger was just starting to come to a nice simmer and flicked off the gas. 

“Maybe I won’t screen it this time,” it was harder than it should have been to make his feet move, to take the few steps around the table and come back to stand by Ortega’s side. Ricardo watched the movement like it was an approaching meteor. Unsteady and unsure. The moment passed, veneer of confidence sliding back into place. Shuddered a little as Richard lifted his arms slightly, a half-assed offer of a hug. Of a truce. 

Ortega took him up on the offer, a quick hug that sent zips of electrical discharge running across Richard’s back. It stung. Part of him wanted it to sting harder. 

“And hey,” Ortega pulled back, but not entirely away, hands still sending low level pulses into Richard’s forearms. “When the two of you _do_ finally get engaged,”

“You’ll be the first to know about it,” Daniel took the hit, sounding embarrassed but doing far better than Richard was with the thought. 

“I damn well better be,”


End file.
